


i've been hiding under my skin

by juliusschmidt



Series: harry, you little shit [4]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dubious Consent, M/M, Secrets, Self-Lubrication, Semi-Public Sex, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 07:11:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliusschmidt/pseuds/juliusschmidt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's secret has become too big for him. He needs help and finds an unlikely ally in Simon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i've been hiding under my skin

Harry shifts and tries to kick a leg out from under the duvet. The sideboard is digging into his back and Louis’ hair is tickling his chin. He reaches up to try to adjust Louis’ fringe. It stays in place for all of two seconds before sliding back down again to itch at Harry’s face. He doesn’t think he’s going to be able to sleep anytime soon.

On the other side of the room, Niall’s snoring softly, a habit Harry’s never noticed before. It’s not so loud it’ll wake anyone, but it’s just loud enough to keep Harry on edge and counting Niall’s breaths.

To top it all off, Harry’s arse itches like crazy, as does his stomach which is covered in his and Louis’ dried come.

They’d shared a couple of quick and quiet hand jobs earlier, though not nearly quiet enough, Harry’s sure. Which, whatever, the other boys could shut the fuck up with their complaints because they totally _enjoyed_ listening in. Just two days back, Harry’d caught Niall pulling one off in the toilet when he’d gone to wash the come off his hands.

Harry shifts, as best he can, to test the pull and sting around his arse. He’s felt the tingles and pulses from the beginning, since he’d first gotten off with Louis in the wardrobe closet. He’s known since then to expect this, the self-lubrication. Still, tonight, when he’d felt that first touch of wetness trickle from his hole, his heart had stuttered and his breath had caught in his chest, terrified of being found out, but also frighteningly aroused. The moisture itself was minute, not enough for Louis to notice. Though, perhaps he had noticed something off because, just as Harry’s arse pulsed, he’d muttered, “Fuck, love, you smell like a _dream_ tonight.”

Harry still hasn’t _done_ anything about his _presentation_. He doesn’t have plan in place for his first heat and he still hasn’t gotten ahold of suppressants.

So far, all he’s accomplished is a little bit of research, all done on the sly, flipping back to the alpha sections of his gender textbook whenever anyone else is nearby. He’s also been trying to suss out if anyone else in the house is also an omega, with the vague plan of then stealing some of their meds. He hasn’t had any luck with this sleuthing, probably because, as he’s learning, being an omega is, surprisingly, much, much easier to hide than he’d been raised to believe.

The secret is growing though, especially now that he’s become sexually active, and with a fucking alpha, no less. It’s growing bigger and bigger, becoming more and more difficult keep hidden, and with a first heat no doubt months (or less) away, he wants, no he _needs_ to tell someone. But that’s more difficult than it sounds.

The other boys are out, at least Harry until makes some plans. He doesn’t want to put this burden on them. (And what would they think of it, anyway? He isn’t sure they’d be cool, as much as he hopes.) His competitors are quite obviously untrustworthy. And he doesn’t want anyone from the production crew to find out because what if Harry’s unidentified omega-ness somehow disqualifies them? He’d really like to tell his mom or his sister. Unfortunately, while he’s on the X Factor, they’re really not available, not for this type of secret-sharing.

Louis squirms, his legs tangling their covers, and mumbles something that sounds oddly like, “Keep the monkey in my mum’s bath.”

Harry wonders idly, what it’s like in Louis’ head. He wonders partly because of all the weird shit he says and does, the random goofiness that he’s constantly pulling out of his arse. And he wonders partly because of the soft looks Louis sends Harry’s way, particularly when he thinks nobody’s paying attention.

Harry’s paying attention, though, and the fondness Louis showers him with frightens Harry as much as it excites him. Louis likes him, that much is painfully clear and it makes Harry’s heart soar and Harry’s dick thicken. Which is cool. Harry scratches again at his come-covered chest. They’ve figured the latter part out, at least.

But also, Louis is an alpha and Harry is an omega and Louis _likes_ him.

And Harry maybe _likes_ Louis, too.

So that’s an issue.

~

Simon decides they’ll perform _Torn_ again in final. Sure, Natalie’s a beta, or so she says, but the lyrics of _Torn_ seem to tell, though not quite explicitly, of the experience of an omega, which is pretty rare in pop music these days.

The irony is twofold for Harry. Everyone thinks it’s so cute to see them, a boyband, an _alpha_ band, crooning out such a vulnerable, feminine story. No one can imagine big, broad shouldered Liam being left naked anywhere, not without giggling to themselves at the sheer ridiculousness of the image. But Harry worries that this story might someday be _his_ story.

They’re rehearsing with Simon, being taped for the show and Harry can’t focus. He’s desperately afraid of looking _too_ into it. He needs to seem like he’s trying to _pretend_ to feel it.

After their second full run through Simon says, “Harry, are you feeling okay? Is your stomach upset? Do you need to use the toilet?”

They’re not standing next to one another, but Harry immediately feels Louis’ anger spike hot and wild.

Before Harry can reply, Louis says, “Harry’s fine.” His fists are clenched and his jaw is set. The other boys are looking at him strangely. Harry’s looking at him strangely.

Simon says, “He’s been singing like he’s got something up his arse and he’s confused as to how it got there.”

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” Louis’ bouncing on his toes and Harry wonders, for a moment, if he’d punch Simon. Simon’s smiling, clearly enjoying his little joke, as well as Louis’ frustration. And the thing is, Louis would usually be cackling, bent over and clutching his stomach, at a statement like that. As far as Harry can tell, jokes about anal sex are his literal favorite. They may or may not make him happier than his mum and pizza. Than having pizza with his mum, even.

“Calm yourself, Tomlinson,” Simon says with a sigh, turning back to the music in front of him. “Let’s give it another go.”

Louis’ still vibrating with bitterness, though. It sizzles up against Harry’s own skin. There’s no way either of them will be able to focus, not with him so wound up.

Harry says, “It’s fine, Louis. I’m not feeling so great. Simon’s right.”

Louis relaxes, slightly.

The rest of the rehearsal’s shit. Louis is pitchy and snappish and Harry still can’t quite figure out how to sell his performance as a _performance._ To top it off, Simon’s eyes don’t really leave Harry. Not even when Liam asks him a question about tempo or when Louis cusses at him about potential costuming choices. So Harry’s glad to see it wrapped, even if he’s more concerned than ever that their chances of actually winning are slim to none.

Simon dismisses them with a, “That’s enough for today, lads. But, Styles, we need to talk.”

Louis steps forward and says, “He said he wasn’t feeling well.”

Simon meets Harry’s eyes and raises his eyebrows. His lips thin. “I have more of a… long-term concern.”

Harry’s heart stutters and he feels his eyes widen. _Shit._

Zayn, Liam and Niall shuffle toward the door. Louis moves closer to Harry who feels drawn closer to Louis in turn.

“Tomlinson, this is between me and Styles.”

Louis shifts his weight and tilts his head, “Yeah?”

Simon’s eyes narrow and focus on Harry. He says, “Unless, Harry, you want…?” He lets the question hang between them.

Harry doesn’t answer right away. He runs his hands through his hair. It’s a mess, the curls tickling his ears and, suddenly, irritating the hell out of him. Louis watches, intently, and Harry feels the weight of his gaze, heavy with expectation.

The thing is Harry would love to keep Louis here for this, to have an ally. No, he’d love to have _Louis_ as his ally. But it’s like, he’s not sure what Simon knows and he’s also not ready to tell Louis everything, not yet. Harry’s still not sure how Louis’d react. How would he see Harry, if he knew? Would he still want him?

Simon clears his throat.

Keeping his eyes carefully trained on his fingers which are clasped in front of him, Harry says, “It’s fine, Louis. I’ve kind of been wanting to talk to Simon, anyway.”

Simon’s frown deepens. Harry doesn’t look at Louis.

“Fine,” Louis says. “Face the beast alone. But don’t coming running to me for help cleaning your wounds later.”

“The beast?” Simon repeats, voice tight.

Louis laughs, a harsh, awkward laugh, and turns to leave. At the door, he calls out, “I’m serious, Harold, you’re on your own,” proving to Harry that he is absolutely not on his own. He’s sure that Louis will be waiting for him, eager to hear every detail of the meeting, every detail that Harry’s willing to share.

His departure seems to leave a void that gapes wide between Harry and Simon. Harry isn’t sure how to fill it. If Simon thinks he _knows_ something, he can bloody well say it without Harry’s prompting.

Simon’s mouth twists and he gestures for Harry to sit. Harry obeys and the act doesn’t feel entire voluntary. He wonders, vaguely, whether Simon is an alpha. He’s always assumed so, but now that he’s close to the man, he realizes that he can’t smell anything, aside from a waft of tangy cologne.

Simon says, words coming out slow, short and measured, “You gonna let Tomlinson take care of you, then?”

Harry startles, his whole body tensing. Like, what? “What?”

One side of Simon’s mouth turns up in an ugly display of wry amusement. It makes Harry feel small and stupid. He speaks even more slowly, when he says, “When your heat comes, you’re going to let Louis bond to you?”

“No,” Harry responds quickly.

Simon raises his eyebrows, “No?”

Harry swallows. He briefly debates whether or not it’s worth it to refute the idea that he’ll have a heat, that he’s an omega. “I don’t want to be bonded. I want to be my own person.”

Simon’s jaw is tense as he silently regards Harry.

“How did you know?” Harry asks.

At this Simon chuckles, “Walsh smelled what you were right away, that’s why he didn’t want to pass you. As soon as he said so, I knew he was right. But your scent wasn’t too strong, not then, not yet, so we figured you were on suppressants.”

Harry leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees and pressing his face into his hands. He says, quiet and muffled, “Fuck. Like, you knew the whole time? Am I obvious?”

Simon shakes his head. “Only to someone watching closely, looking for it. Though, if things keep _progressing_ between you and Louis, it’ll be far more clear.”

Harry lets his fingers slide up into his hair. It’ll be a mess, later. Louis’ll give him shit for it.

“Harry, backing a band with a bondless omega and four alphas would a huge financial risk for me to take.” The statements sets something off in Harry, something that’s been building.

“You can’t fucking make me bond, not if I don’t consent,” he says. He’s sure about that. Omegas may not have many rights, but this much they’ve achieved, in the UK, at least.

Simon’s quiet and Harry thinks he may have won the argument. He peaks up at Simon. His arms are crossed and he’s focused intently on Harry, not quite frowning.

Harry has a thought and his breath catches. He doesn’t think Simon would actually--  “Don’t fire me,” he says.

Simon lips turn fully down into the frown that’s been threatening to break. “I could. You’ve been deliberately misleading us.”

Harry swallows and, fuck, his eyes are filling up.

Then, bright as the sun, he feels Simon let out a burst of unhappiness, tinged with something else hot and biting. _Powerlessness_.  Quickly, before Harry can meet his eyes, he’s closed off again.

But it’s too late. Harry _knows._ Simon doesn’t want to fire him. He suggested Harry bond with Louis because he wants Harry to _stay_.

Harry tries not to smile, but he’s certain he fails. “You like me,” he says. “I like you, too.”

Simon chuckles, dark and rough, and bites out, “I like you like about as much as I like having my teeth pulled.”

Harry shakes his head, “You don’t want to fire me. You think I’m talented. And clever. And charming. And dead sexy.” Okay, maybe he’s taking it a bit far. Then again, maybe not, seeing as Simon’s starting to smile back at him.

He’s shaking his head, arms still folded tight to him, when he says, “You’re a cheeky thing, aren’t  you?” And that’s when Harry _smells_ him for the first time, a warm nutty scent that reminds Harry of Christmas. It’s not quite what he would have expected, but he likes it all the same, so he shoots Simon an exaggerated wink.

“Fuck,” Simon says, closing his eyes. “You are dangerous.”

“We could use it,” Harry says. He’s thought about this, about what an asset he could be to the band, and he kind of likes the idea and he kind of hates it. The potential power is thrilling. He’s started to taste a bit of it with the fans and the boys and, now, here with Simon. But the staring, the sniffing, the expectations, it all makes him feel a little dirty. Still, it’s a plan, a plan that could benefit him and Simon both.

“We can make this work for us,” Harry insists, when Simon doesn’t reply right away. “My, um, sex appeal could help us make bank.”

“You’re not wrong,” Simon says and Harry immediately relaxes. It’s going to be fine. Harry nods enthusiastically. Then, remembering he’s supposed to be acting _sexy_ , he narrows his eyes and waggles his brows.

Simon says, “You’re not cute, either.”

Slowly, deliberately, Harry says, “Your lips say one thing, your scent says another.”

Simon pulls out a sheet a paper, a legal document. “We’re going to have to get you on suppressants straight away. I think it’s best to keep this a secret, for now. You’ll sell better if people think you’re all alphas. Who else knows you’re not? The other boys? Tomlinson must, eh?”

Harry shakes his head, suddenly a little embarrassed that he hasn’t told anyone, embarrassed that he’s only just figured it out himself.

Simon says, “Your parents? Your sister.”

“No one,” Harry tells him.

“Speak up,” Simon says. “I can’t hear you when you mumble.”

Simon’s pushes the document toward him.

“No one,” Harry says, louder this time. “No one knows.”

Simon nods. “You want to tell anyone?”

“My family, eventually,” Harry says quickly.

“The boys?” Simon asks.

“Maybe. Not now,” Harry says. They’ll probably be pissed when they find out, what with Liam’s ‘no secrets’ rule. But Harry hadn’t known he was an omega that first night when they’d circled up, shoulders pressed together, drinking cheap vodka and whispering (okay, maybe not whispering, maybe whisper-shouting) their dating histories and drug shenanigans. Sharing now, though, will only make things awkward.

An omega spending day in and day out with four alphas, it sounds like the plot of a bad porno.

It’ll be made worse by his _thing_ with Louis. _Fuck_.

“Okay. Let’s sort this out, then,” Simon says, indicating, again, the document.

Together, they talk through a draft of the contract, making a change or two here and there. They’ll have an official meeting with lawyers and shit, to sign it when his mum comes in after the final.  Simon assures him they’ll set him up to see a doctor, discreetly, to get him started on a hormone suppressant program, as soon as he has a free day.

The conversation serves to make Harry more nervous rather than less, his stomach now churning with nausea and he’s sure Simon can tell.

When Harry stands to go, Simon places his hand over Harry’s on top of his desk. He’s smiling, soft and a little sad. “Harry, this would be much easier, if you bonded.”

Irritation shoots up his spine, and he plasters on his biggest, toothiest smile. “You offering?” He asks.

Simon pulls away, flushing hotly and looking down. And, _fuck_ , if being an omega doesn’t have its benefits. Simon meets his eyes again, shaking his head, humor lifting the corners of his mouth. “You’re really something, kid. I was thinking about Tomlinson, though. Or any of the other boys for that matter. You should think about it, too.”

Harry nods, but he tries not to do as Simon’s asked because the idea of bonding to one of his bandmates, the idea of bonding to anyone, it’s fucking awkward is what it is.

~

Harry’s just had a shower, the long kind that makes him warm from the inside out and turns his fingers wrinkly. His hair is plastered his head, tickling the back of his neck and he hopes that the room will be empty. He wants to call his mum.

No such luck.

Louis’s there, in Harry’s bunk actually, arms wrapped around one knee and he’s _fuck._

“Rude,” Harry says. “Now, I can’t sleep there tonight.”

Louis wrinkles his nose. He says, “Harold, if my smell bothered you that much, you should have said.” And then he clips off another toenail.

“You’re disgusting.” Harry pulls the towel from around his waist and uses it dry his hair. He _is_ a little put out because even if he’s _just fine_ sleeping in Louis’ bed, he doesn’t have a choice now. It’s either be suffocated and have all his blankets stolen or be stabbed by sharp (probably dirty) _toenails._

“Says the boy who fished Niall’s apple core out of the trash to eat it.”

Harry sticks his tongue out and then turns to waggle his arse at him. Louis isn’t even looking, though, which, what a waste of naked ass shaking. Harry deserves to be appreciated.

As he’s pulling on his boxers something cold and hard hits his back. The nail clippers. He whirls around to find Louis’ eyes fixed on him. Louis’ smiling, but the set of his shoulders isn’t quite playful.

“You okay?” Harry asks crawling into Louis’ bunk. The sheets need to be washed. They smell more like boy and sex than they do Louis and laundry detergent.

Louis shrugs. “Simon didn’t… he wasn’t too hard on you, was he?” He doesn’t look at Harry as he asks the question and he punctuates it by brushing at the sheets, a few bits of nail fluttering to the floor beside the bunk.

From underneath Louis’ covers, Harry watches him clamber down to the floor. “Nah,” he says, smiling. “He likes me.”

Louis tucks himself in beside Harry. He doesn’t turn out the lights, so the room feels off, not quite right for bedtime. Louis buries his face in Harry’s hair and breaths deeply.

“I’m glad you’ve showered. I don’t think I could have slept with you smelling like Simon.” Louis stills as soon as he says it. It’s a possessive remark, odd between friends, odder still between alphas, and it sets something warm spiraling up and off from the bottom of Harry’s spine through his limbs to the tips of fingers and toes, to the top of his head and the head of his dick.

Harry hears Louis swallow. Harry says, “Yeah, don’t think I could have slept at all, smelling like him.” It’s not entirely true, but he wants Louis calm. He wants Louis fully with him. He wants, suddenly, and a little desperately, to get off.

He slips a leg between Louis’, testing to see if he’s hard. Of course, he is. Harry should have known from the heavy cloud of chocolate and cinnamon surrounding them.

Louis arches into him a little, fingers clutching at Harry’s shoulders, before stilling.

“What did he want, Harry?” Louis asks, his breath, a sharp exhale. “Was it about us? Does he know?”

Harry slips a hand inside Louis’ sweats, sliding it slowly over his hip to rest on the full curve of his arse. “He was just worried about me is all,” Harry says, willing the conversation to end.

Harry angles his head in attempt to capture Louis’ lips against his own. Louis pulls away.

“I’m more clever than that, Harold. You didn’t answer my question. Are they watching us? Are they going to give us trouble?”

Harry latches his mouth onto Louis’ throat and sucks. The skin here tastes heavenly, just like Louis’ scent and Harry feels wetness start to gather between his cheeks. The realization sends a thrill up his spine. He’s beginning to like the feeling. A little lubrication never hurt anyone.

“Harry,” Louis moans, thrusting helplessly against Harry’s thigh. Harry kneads his ass, fingers digging in hard enough to scratch, and Louis keens.

“He knows, doesn’t he?” Louis tries again, between pants. His thrusts are picking up speed. He’s going to come in his pants, Harry’s sure of it, just from the feel of Harry against him, from his hand on his arse and mouth on his neck.

“He knows,” Harry confirms.

Louis stiffens and arches away, meeting his eyes. “What? Really?”

“He thinks it’s a good thing,” Harry adds, quickly. “It’ll keep us from fooling around too much with the fans and the like.”

Louis eyes narrow and he shoves Harry’s boxers down to his knees. Still watching his face carefully, Louis takes hold of Harry’s cock with one hand and his balls with the other. Harry gasps.

“Fuck right, it will,” Louis says. “I can’t think about _anyone_ else when you’re around.” His voice is high and breathy. The hand he’s got on Harry’s balls inches backward, pressing up into that sweet spot. He’s so close to—

Harry’s brain goes white and he comes, gasping and spilling over Louis’ fist.

Louis’ gasping, too, and thrusting weakly against Harry’s leg. “Come on, fuck,” he says. Harry wants to blow him, he does, but he’s tired and out of breath, so he lets his hand wander from Louis’ arse to his dick and tugs.

“Yeah,” Louis says. “Yeah.” Just a few short pulls and he comes, too, making a mess of his clothes.

Louis blinks at him and then closes his eyes as he snuggles close. Harry’s keenly aware of that they’re both covered in come, again. He wipes his hand across Louis’ back and tries to pull away. Louis tightens his grip, but does not open his eyes.

“I want to clean up,” Harry says.

“No,” Louis tells him. “Stay.” Harry feels his body still at the command. Of course, he’ll stay.

Harry tries to relax, tries to feel sleepy, but his mind is alive, anxious about their final performance, anxious about his conversation with Simon, and anxious about the future, after the show finishes.

Louis’ breathing is even and Harry doesn’t feel jealous, he doesn’t, just relieved. Louis’ not worried, not enough for it to keep him awake. That’s a good sign and it comforts Harry.

Louis presses his nose into Harry’s neck and murmurs, “Mine.”

The word is spoken, softly, maybe not even to Harry, maybe to someone in Louis’ dream. But the fierceness of it wraps around Harry like a blanket and makes his arse tighten.

He thinks about what Simon said about the benefits of bonding to Louis and tries not to cry. 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I guess this needs a follow-up, eh?
> 
> I'm on tumblr, mostly here for now: [juliusschmidt](http://juliusschmidt.tumblr.com)


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